Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Heimarmene
Summary: A new marriage law. A revival of the vanquished Dark Lord. Lies. Love. Loss. Life. To survive it all, Hermione and Draco must overcome private barriers and personal dragons to take the first step of a journey of a thousand miles. HIATUS!
1. Prologue 2013: Running

_So, hi guys! I'm re-uploading what I've done so far – yippee. I haven't added another chapter since, like, last year, and I'm SORRY! I'm working on that right now, I swear. This story is dedicated to anyone and everyone who will have, or has had, the patience to stick with me right until the end. And so, to you I present…_

_Journey of a Thousand Miles._

_()()()_

The darkness was stifling. It swallowed up every familiar landmark, every comforting sight that the daylight boasted. And yet, tonight, she was thankful for it. It concealed her from her pursuers as she traveled the well-known paths of the forest, lending her precious minutes. As she stumbled through the heavy snow, she wondered why he had sent the men after her. Hadn't it been his suggestion, to run and hide? Hadn't he said, _Run far, far, away, and don't get caught?_

Shivering, she pulled her dressing gown around herself more securely and clutched her bundle tighter, before turning off the main path and feeling her way blindly through the darkness, to a small, secluded meadow that only the two of them knew about. Only when she reached it did she stop, panting hard and freezing cold. She took a minute to calm her breathing before pulling out a slender wand from her billowing sleeve. Tracing a large door in the air before her, she muttered an incantation that would be the first of many that would save her, and numerous others.

The outlines around the box glowed softly for a moment before the dark space inside the portal faded, replaced by a warm, familiar scene. The bright lights of the Hogwarts of her youth reflected off of the suit of armor that valiantly guarded the Heads' dorms. Inside, she knew, a younger version of herself slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the event s that would occur in the next few hours, effectively changing her life forever.

Forcing the knight's metal arms into an awkward cradle, she tucked her little daughter into them. She leaned forward and pushed a stray curl off her forehead and kissed her tiny button nose. The baby woke up and looked around curiously. Seeing only her mother's face, she smiled, and, grasping her finger, drifted back to sleep.

The young woman stood in front of the armor a moment more before carefully extracting her finger. With one last sad smile, she stepped back through the shimmering gate, and into the snowy night. "Goodbye, my darling," she whispered.

Grimly, she sealed the doorway with the counter-curse, tears falling freely.

She knew that she had left behind much more than her only child – she had, ultimately, left the key to her future.

_()()()_

_I feel like I ought to warn you – there are some non-descriptive sex scenes ahead, there _is_ an OC, there are some really confusing time-travel themes that you probably shouldn't lose sleep over, and there are few to none canon couples. Don't be a stranger; I'm always looking for feedback. Thanks for reading!_

_Heimarmene (Marmalade)_

_PS. Do you prefer calling me Heimarmene or Marmalade? Tell me!_


	2. Behold the Future

_I know Hermione seems a bit OOC in this here chapter – don't worry, it's only because she's sleep-deprived. Well, more than usual. It would seem that seven years of staying up late in the library and running around with Harry and Ron will leave one with a rather annoying case of insomnia._

_()()()_

Hermione stared at the ceiling listlessly. She knew, without looking, that it was three in the morning, and she was hungry, tired, and cold. She also knew that in about an hour, either her hunger would eventually force her out of bed and into the small kitchen off the common room, or she'd simply fall asleep again. In the meantime, she supposed she'd get some studying done. She rolled over an immediately regretted it; in doing so, she'd accidentally knocked her blankets off her bed. After a short deliberation, she decided that it wouldn't be worth it to rescue the quilt and try to warm herself up again. She grudgingly got off her mattress, and, pausing only to collect her wand and current novel, sprinted down the stairs to the common room and the fireplace which it housed. Once there, she knelt in front of the fireplace, and with a flick of her wrist, ignited it. Flames sprang up from the ashes and crackled merrily. Hermione sighed in contentment and ran to the kitchenette for her routine coffee and orange – a strange combination, but she enjoyed them together.

While waiting for her coffee water to boil, she thought she heard someone crying, but she dismissed it as her imagination playing tricks on her, or Peeves bothering Filch's cranky cat. Yes, she concluded, that was it. Why else would anyone be up at this hour in the morning, much less crying?

As she poured the heated water into the filter with the grounds and peeled her orange, her thoughts turned to a much darker venue – her fellow Head. Draco Malfoy was as insufferable as he had been the day she had met him, possibly even more so. Harry had been downright furious when he had found that Malfoy was Head Boy.

"_Hermione, he's a bloody Death Eater, for Merlin's sake!" _he'd yelled. For some reason, Hermione had felt compelled to defend him. _"Yes, I know that, Harry," _she'd replied. _"But have you looked at him? I mean, REALLY looked at him? He looks terrible…not like somebody who would _willingly _sell his soul." _

Harry had eventually agreed with her, but not before glowering darkly and warning her to stay away from him. So far, Hermione had been doing an excellent job of it.

Taking her mug of steaming coffee, Hermione popped a section of her favored fruit in her mouth and wandered back into the common room. She sat down in front of the fire gratefully, reveling in the sudden heat. She had not been sitting down more than a minute before wails reached her ears again; thinking it to be a drunken student from the parties the night before, she resentfully got up and crossed the room, wand at the ready and poised to deduct points.

But nothing in her training had ever prepared her for what she discovered.

When Hermione stepped outside, she was initially confused. She saw no intoxicated student; Peeves was nowhere in sight. She looked to her right, where a suit of armor had stepped to allow her entry to the corridor. What she saw there made her jump and bite back a scream; lying in the knight's arms, which had been molded to a crude cradle, was a child. A toddler, really; it was two, possibly three years old. Hermione panicked for a moment. What was she supposed to do? But instincts borne from months of caring for her own infant siblings soon took over.

"Hush, little one," she whispered, gently lifting the baby from its perch. "How did you get up here?"

The baby's sobs soon quieted as Hermione rocked and talked to her. The piecing cries turned to delighted coos. "Who are you, love?"

Now that the screams had ceased, Hermione could see the child she held was a girl. Muttering things that she desperately hoped were soothing, Hermione ran through the common room, impromptu breakfast forgotten. Once in her own quarters, she hastily pulled on her dressing gown and shoved her wand in a pocket. The baby's gaze never left her face. As she hurried through the corridors, something caught her eye. A corner of an envelope poked out from the depths of the blankets that the baby was swaddled in. Breathless, she sank to the floor, staring. With trembling fingers, she pulled the envelope from beside the girl and slit it open. Quickly, she unfolded the actual letter.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I know this is a shock to you. First, a child that almost seems to recognize you, and then a letter written by somebody you've never met who knows your name?_

_Before I reveal too much, I beg you to take the child and this letter to the Headmistress immediately. Inside the blanket is another letter. Give this to Minerva. After she has read it, she will explain all of this to you, I promise._

_I must go now; Kael's coming with the baby and before long, it will be too light for me to run. I bid you farewell._

_Adieu._

The note was neither signed nor dated. Hermione's mind was a whirlwind of bewilderment; should she take the baby to McGonagall like the author asked her to? Or was there some sort of curse placed upon the whole thing? Eventually, duty won out; the Heads were to report any unusual findings to the Headmistress instantly. Grimly, Hermione picked herself up and continued towards McGonagall's office at a run.

"Sherbet lemon, sherbet lemons," she gasped. The gargoyle jumped aside, revealing a spiraling staircase. Dashing up it, she skidded to a stop in front of the heavy oak doors. Inside, she could hear voices arguing companionably. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the wood, which opened at her touch.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. What on earth has you up at this hour?"

Minerva McGonagall was a stern-looking woman with strict rules, though she was not unkind. And at moments like these, Hermione was quite glad that she had a Headmistress rather than a Headmaster.

"Professor, I….I think I found something…" Hermione's words petered out weakly as McGonagall eyed her bundle, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. Hermione swallowed nervously. "I found a baby," she finished in a small voice.

McGonagall rose halfway out of her seat. "A child, Miss Granger? Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, professor," Hermione whispered. "Look." Crossing the room with rapid steps, she thrust the single letter into McGonagall's hand. As McGonagall scanned the page, Hermione unwrapped the baby's blanket in search of the letter that the note had explained about. When she found them, she was surprised; the envelope was quite a bit thicker than she'd expected. As promised, it was addressed to _Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_. Wordlessly, Hermione passed it to her mentor. The professor's lips were pressed in a thin line, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety. As she read the letter, her face paled, thought her breathing maintained a steady, comforting rhythm. Hermione sat in wretched silence, holding the baby and wondering what part the tiny girl would play in her life.

At last, McGonagall straightened and stood up, facing Hermione. "Miss Granger, I think it would be best if Mr. Malfoy were to be here. If you would be so kind as to fetch him, I shall summon Severus."

Hermione nodded stiffly, confused as to why _Malfoy,_ of all people, had been requested to talk about a baby.

"Leave the girl here," McGonagall added sharply. Seeing Hermione's distress at leaving the child, she spoke in softer tones. "I will look after her, Miss Granger," she assured her. "I will not leave the room. You have my word."

Hermione nodded again and turned to the door. "Er, Professor, I don't mean to be rude, but Malfoy? Ma'am?"

To her surprise, McGonagall smiled, albeit humorlessly. "Severus – ahem, Severus's _ghost_ – and I will explain once you return." As she spoke, she waved her wand and a silvery tabby cat with spectacle markings around its eyes burst from its tip and streaked into the darkness. McGonagall caught her eye. "And _hurry_," she emphasized.

Somewhat reluctantly, Hermione passed McGonagall the baby and fled the study. She arrived at the suit of armor in record time. "Unity," she hissed at it. It took her a few minutes to gain entrance, for her breathing was labored and her words came in wheezes.

Once the password became legible, the knight saluted her smartly and marched to his right. Never before had Hermione wished that he'd simply get out of her way. "Malfoy!" she yelled, racing to his door. "Malfoy! MALFOY!" She pounded on the wood, but to no avail. Seeing this, she stomped to one of the couches and threw a pillow in the direction of his room, frustrated. "Draco Malfoy, if you do not get your sorry –"

Unfortunately for one particular individual, the door had opened at the moment Hermione's pillow was sent airborne. As a result, Draco Malfoy, age seventeen, Slytherin House, was hit squarely in the face with a half-pound of feathers and silk. "Granger! What do you mean by this?"

"Ah," said Hermione mildly. "Good. You're awake."

"'_Good, you're awake?'"_

"Well," she shrugged. "Yes."

"You're bloody mental! I am _trying _to sleep, and then you start hollering and trying to bash my door in!"

He had stepped into the light, clad in only green and silver boxers, his hair tousled from sleep. Impatient, Hermione pushed her past him into his room. "What in the name of Merlin's underpants are you doing, Granger?" he demanded. Hermione ignored him and picked up his dressing gown, discarded on the floor. "Put this on," she said in a low voice, tossing it to him. He snatched it out of the air, scowling. "Do it."

Draco barred her way out as she moved to leave. "Granger," he growled. "What. Do.

You. _Want_?"

"Move, ferret," Hermione said calmly. "Or I can hex you through your wall. Take your pick."

Eyeing her wand, which was leveled at his chest, he stepped aside, looking ticked off. "Get your wand and meet me in the common room," she said. "And hurry up."

Grumbling nasty things to himself, Draco obeyed. He considered gelling his hair just to annoy her, but decided it much too early to face her lecture-laden wrath. Dressing gown on and wand in hand, Draco wandered back into the common room where Hermione was pacing the floor like a caged tiger, all traced of calm dissipated.

"Come on, Granger," he yawned. "I want to get back to bed as soon as I can."

Hermione shot him a look and stalked out of their dorm.

"What is your _problem_?" he yelled, following her out into the corridor. "First you're frantically pounding at my door, screaming at me to get my sorry, gorgeous self out of bed, and then you're all freakishly calm, and now this! What did I do to get the silent treatment?"

Still, she said nothing.

"What the bloody hell has got you so worked up?" he exploded. "Or am I not important enough to be let in on your little problem?"

Hermione turned around finally; when she did, her eyes were shining with tears. Draco was taken aback by this – he knew she was not one to easily succumb to tears. "I don't know what my little problem is," she said, her voice wavering dangerously. "And if McGonagall thought you weren't important, why do you think she sent me to wake you up?"

This caught him off-guard. "McGonagall sent you?" he asked, incredulous. "Is she off her rocker?"

But Hermione had turned her back on him and was running again, her hair flying out behind her.

"Granger!" he hollered.

She turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Cursing loudly, Draco went after her.

When he caught up with her, she was waiting for him at the base of the spiraling staircase that led to the Headmistress's study. Serene again, she crooked a finger at him and bounded up the stairs.

_Follow me._

Swearing once more for good measure, he trudged towards her. At length, she spoke again. "_This_ is what the bloody hell has got me so worked up."

She shouldered the heavy door aside and walked in. Draco hesitated a moment, but the sight of the ghost of his godfather and former Potions teacher made him step in hastily.

Snape stood – floated – facing them, his arms folded across his chest and a ferocious scowl on his face. McGonagall's back was towards them. Draco could see she was holding something, though what, he couldn't imagine. The unlikely pair was arguing when he and the little witch walked in. Hermione cleared her throat softly, catching Snape's attention. "Minerva," he said silkily. "It would appear that we have…guests." McGonagall turned around and Draco stared at what she was carrying. "A _baby_?" he hissed at Hermione. "You woke me up for a _baby_?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but her former Transfiguration professor beat her to the punch. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, she did wake you up for a baby. And I fully intend to explain this baby to you. Miss Granger, if you would…?"

Hermione eagerly stepped forward to receive the little girl, who made sounds of delight at seeing her again.

"Have a seat," McGonagall said wearily. Three cushioned armchairs appeared in from of her massive oak desk. Hermione and Draco perched on the edges of their chairs tentatively, while Snape drifted around his with a tight scowl on his face. "Mr. Malfoy, I trust you are familiar with the mechanics of Time-Turners?"

"Yes, Professor, but what do they have to do with that?" He gestured towards the baby in Hermione's arms.

"Miss Granger found the child, and I am trying to explain this to you. If I may continue?"

"Hang on." Draco was delighted. "Granger broke a rule? Time-Turners are practically illegal!"

"I know that, ferret," Hermione snapped. "And for your information, I was very much in the present when I found her."

"Ha! So it's a girl now, is it?"

"Excellent conclusion, Malfoy." Hermione's cheeks were steadily darkening. "I don't suppose it was the pink jumper that clued you in?"

The baby emitted a wail of distress. Shooting Draco a withering glare, Hermione lapsed into French. Draco was startled, but wisely said nothing.

"If you two are quite finished?" McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her spectacles. Hermione bowed her head silently, obviously embarrassed. "Yes, Professor," she said meekly. Draco merely shrugged. "Thank you," McGonagall muttered. "As I was saying, a Time-Turner –"

"I thought we just agreed that Granger wasn't time-traveling!" Draco interrupted.

"I _wasn't_, you great prat." Hermione didn't look up from the baby. "Shut up and listen for a change, would you?"

"Minerva, it's clear that these _children _don't understand metaphors. Perhaps you should tell them plainly so that they might grasp it?" Snape looked agitated. McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Severus, I do suppose you're right. We still have to discuss the matter with the rest of the faculty before the student body wakes up…" McGonagall's sentence trailed away thoughtfully. "Very well. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, I am going to be very frank with you. This is your child."

"Professor?" Hermione's heightened complexion had disappeared, replaced by a ghostly pallor. Draco, however, was not so restrained. "That is NOT MY CHILD. I have never even _dreamed _of touching Granger that way, let alone done the deed! How do you associate the likes of a pureblood, a Malfoy, with this…this filthy muggleborn?"

"You did not let me finish, Mr. Malfoy. Apparently, your objections do not remain the same in the coming few years." She permitted herself a sardonic smile. "This is your child from your future."

Hermione was on the brink of passing out. She hadn't really looked at the baby girl before; but now that she knew what to look for, she could easily discern telltale features that spoke of both her and Malfoy. The baby's hair was a pale gold in color, a few shades darker than her apparent father's, though she had Hermione's loose ringlets. Hermione's button nose. Draco's finely arched eyebrows. Her skin was a pale alabaster, though her cheeks had a natural flush. Her eyes, however, were a mystery – they were a bright, vibrant blue. Looking up, Hermione saw Draco staring at the girl as well and drawing the same conclusion as her. "There is _no bloody way_ this is real!" he exclaimed vehemently.

"I'm afraid there is, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall said gently. "I'm told that, in a few years, a spell that lets wizards turn back time will be invented secretly. It is much like a Time-Turner. And if I'm correct, it is yourself and your wife – Miss Granger – who invent it."

"Alright. Now I _know _you're making this up." Draco snickered. "So maybe Granger and I had a drunken one-night stand and she gets knocked up. Whatever. But we _do not marry_. Ever."

"I quite beg to differ, Mr. Malfoy. Read this letter and tell me you do not believe me." McGonagall handed the letter to them over the desk. Hermione shifted so that Draco could read it over her shoulder.

_Dear Minerva,_

_I know this sounds crazy, but my name is Hermione. I was one of Harry Potter's best friends. Ronald is dead now, killed by the Death Eaters four years ago. I was captured alongside him, but I was released shortly after. The highest-ranking Death Eater saw fit to spare me, if only to humiliate me for his amusement. _

_Of Harry, I have had no contact with him for almost a year now. I know for certain that the Death Eaters have not murdered him, for I am quite close to a rather knowledgeable source. I am forced to believe that he has somehow fled the clutches of the dark side for the umpteenth time, and is currently safe. I fervently hope the same of you, Minerva, for in my time, you disappeared coming on six months ago. _

_Even the Muggles are terrified; they've been told that an international terrorist is on the loose, mysteriously and mercilessly slaughtering hundreds, with no visible signs of what killed them. My own family members are among these ranks, most of them already gone. I have been in Muggle London recently – nearly all of it is deserted. _

_I suppose these tidbits of news are irrelevant, for they will not happen for years into the future. But if our guesses are correct, they can be abstained from happening at all. In my time, after Harry killed Voldemort, the Death Eaters – or what was left of them – rose again, intent on completing their master's mission. _

_My name is no longer Hermione Granger; I married three years ago. I am now Hermione Jean Malfoy. The Death Eater I spoke of is my husband, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Ron and I were nineteen when we were caught. Draco saved me on a whim. I was not allowed to go completely free, however; I was imprisoned in the Manor with him. Two months later, his Veela blood recognized me as his mate. Surprisingly, I fell in love with him. We wed on Christmas Day the year we were twenty. _

_Less than a month ago, Draco and I decided that it was too dangerous to continue raising our daughter in this modern, evil-ruled world. So we researched and experimented and eventually created a spell that works much in the same way as a Time-Turner does. We have told no one about it; if put into the wrong hands, life as you know it might not have existed. _

_The child young Hermione brought to you is our daughter. She was born on September 15, 2012. She will be born exactly five years from the day you read this letter. It's currently December; she's two years old today. She is Lyra Emily Malfoy._

_Alongside the baby is a bundle of letters, as you have no doubt already found. Each has a name or two and a date. Please open them accordingly; they retain valuable information that will make sense only at the time of their opening._ _Hermione and Draco will be skeptical – please show them these words. I know they will eventually see the truth in them. _

_The second letter in this envelope is for the eyes of the Hogwarts staff only. It outlines the next nine and a half months, and, if Draco and I are right, what will be the outcome._

_May you all fare well._

_Hermione Malfoy _

"The handwriting," Hermione said shakily. "It's mine. It's exactly the same. She's – I'm – telling the truth, Malfoy." Across from her, McGonagall nodded grimly. "Professor Trelawney predicted a sign from the future. This child must be it."

"What, that old bat?" Draco asked, disbelieving. "She can hardly tell a crystal ball from a teapot, let alone make a prediction."

"Not true," Hermione countered. "She's made two concerning Harry in the past seventeen years, and they've both come true. Why doubt her now?"

"I was there during her first prediction," Snape offered, sounding irate. "She recently displayed the same signs of trance, and tone. Granger and Professor McGonagall are, I'm sorry to say, correct."

"What did she say, exactly?" Draco was livid. He'd never had any experience with babies, and he hadn't planned to for at least another three years. How could this tiny, insignificant girl ruin his future plans in less than an hour? How had he gone from sleeping like the dead to being a father, married to his worst enemy's practically-girlfriend?

McGonagall stood up and walked to a cabinet. Pulling it open, she took something from inside and brought it to her desk. "A Pensieve," Hermione gasped. "You're going to show it to us?" Draco looked at it closely and mentally smacked himself. Of course! Why hadn't he realized it first? His father had at least three lying around Malfoy Manor. He blamed it on lack of sleep, which, in turn, he blamed on the Mudblood. Justifying his actions to himself, he leaned over the shallow dish and stared into the swirling silver substance. Beside him, Hermione did the same, though she seemed hesitant, as though she wasn't sure if she wanted to know more of her future then she already did.

McGonagall placed the tip of her wand on the instrument and traced circles on the liquid. A figure, shrouded in mist, arose from the bowl. Draco recognized it as his Divination teacher, a thin woman with frizzy hair and owl-like glasses. She was hung with shawls and necklaces as usual, but something in her demeanor had changed. He decided it was her posture; normally she stood ramrod straight, but at present, she was hunched over, as if in great pain. She revolved slowly in the spot, blinking up at them with her magnified insect eyes.

"_A future beacon shall arise from night,_

_Bringing hopes of thriving for untainted light,_

_A blessed mortal, wholesome and pure,_

_Shall embody pain and joy, hate and love's might." _

Her voice was rough and deep, not at all like the fluttery, dramatic tones they were used to. As she finished prophesizing, her body slumped again, spent. Draco noticed that, despite herself, Hermione had edged towards the speaker, enrapt.

"This particular episode happened a week ago, prior to a faculty meeting," McGonagall said. "Severus, Alethea – Professor Sinistra, Merlin rest her soul – and I were the only ones who heard her. We are still waiting for the other part; however, we do not know when she will continue her telling."

"The other part, Professor?" Whatever color Hermione had gained back drained from her face. McGonagall sighed heavily. "Yes. Most predictions are eight lines, not four, although some do not reach expectancy. Mr. Potter's first only had four lines. This one ends on such a note that one would anticipate another verse."

For a long moment, the only sound in the room the flap of Snape's ethereal cloak as he paced the air behind them. The baby – _Lyra_ – exhaled softly; she had fallen asleep during the prophecy, a lock of Hermione's hair grasped in her minute hand. Enraptured, Hermione stroked her daughter's face gently. The baby's skin was soft and smooth and warm. Hermione was instantly comforted by it. In her peripheral vision, she could see Malfoy staring at the two of them, his expression a mix of disgust, curiosity and something she couldn't quite place.

McGonagall's quiet voice aroused Hermione from her thoughts. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I would advise you to return to your dormitory. Let no one see the child. Should anyone happen to glimpse her, tell them she is merely a doll under an animation charm. Am I clear?"

Hermione and Draco nodded unquestioningly. McGonagall fixed them with a stern look before turning away. "Excellent. Severus, if you would wake the others?"

"Of course." Snape's robes flared around him as walked through the heavy wooden door. McGonagall turned back to them. "I will address the rest of your year in the morning to discuss your potential classes and living schedules," she said. "Until then, I suggest you rest. Merlin only knows what the future will bring."

()()()

_So this chapter is actually just a wee bit longer than the original. And in this one, Hermione doesn't speak French. And you find out the name of the baby. And Malfoy still gets hit with a pillow. AND Snape is now a ghost. Hurrah!_

_Marmalade._


	3. Of Winning & Whining

_**Er…I 'm not dead. I…was on a mission to Mars! Aw, c'mon, you know I'm telling the truth. Look at this face. How can you say I'm lying?**_

_**Letswriteafairytale – a special shoutout to you! Your review spurred me not to give up and keep at it. Thus, this chapter is dedicated to you; hope you like it.**_

**_To help you see how I think of Lilly – think Claire from _Mission: Impossible_ meets Olive's hair from _Easy A_ meets Marina Diamandis's (speaking) voice. And Pansy is a brunette Paris Hilton, minus dog, plus unicorn._**

_()()()_

Hermione threw herself down in front of the dying fire, thoroughly exhausted and infinitely confused. Yawning, she stabbed halfheartedly at the dimly glowing embers with the poker until flames burst forth. Satisfied, she leaned back against the legs of the couch and allowed her mind to wander back through the past few hours.

After McGonagall had dismissed them, Hermione and Draco had walked back to their shared dorm in utter silence. Hermione had carried their daughter, who slept blissfully on. Every few minutes, they had shared an uncomfortable glance, then looked away hastily, each scowling, embarrassed, and afraid.

When they reached their common room, they had been greeted by a surprise; a pristine house elf met them at the entry. She had introduced herself as Kael and told them she had been commissioned by the headmistress to help them with their new child. In the center of the room had been a massive pile of baby supplies, such as a crib, a pram, and food and clothes.

Kael had gone on to explain that for the foreseeable future, she was to be Hermione and Draco's personal elf. She was charged with helping with both the baby and the household in general. Hermione had asked _Household? What household?_ To which Kael had replied _Mistress will see. _Hermione had had to be contented with that.

And now, at six thirty seven in the morning, Hermione couldn't decide whether to try and take a twenty three-minute catnap or merely stare mindlessly into the fire. Stifling a yawn, she glanced back over her shoulder at her future husband and future daughter. Malfoy was stretched out on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, occasionally mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "No sodding way." The other arm was slung over Lyra's back where she slumbered, stomach on his.

They had arrived back at four AM, though it had taken an hour and a half to put away all the McGonagall-sent supplies. Then the baby had woken up and needed to be fed. Hermione had handed her off to Malfoy reluctantly and hurried into the (muggle!) kitchenette to warm the formula she'd found. It had taken perhaps six minutes, but when she walked back into the common room, she'd found them the way they were now. As she'd returned to the kitchen, she's thought of the way they'd looked – peaceful, happy, father-and-daughter.

Hermione was roused from her reverie by three smart raps on the common room door. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she stumbled across the room and opened the door. Minerva McGonagall stood in the threshold, still clad in her tartan dressing gown. "Good morning, Miss Granger," she said brusquely. "I trust you and Mr. Malfoy have found the supplies and elf satisfactory?"

"Yes, Professor, thank you. They're really quite helpful."

McGonagall chuckled darkly. "I would hope so, as you will be using these items regularly over the year."

Hermione stood gaping in her bare feet and dressing gown, not quite believing her headmistress. McGonagall wasted no time. "If you would wake Mr. Malfoy, I must speak with the both of you. It is of the utmost importance. As soon as you are dressed, meet me in the antechamber behind the head table in the Great Hall. Let no one see you. Once again, I stress that you _hurry_. Good day." She turned and vanished along the corridor in a swish of crisp tartan.

Hermione closed the door gently and slumped against the wood. Passing a hand over her face, she straightened and moved towards Malfoy. Upon reaching him, she hesitated. He had never taken kindly to muggleborns touching him; why would he now? Would he lash out at her, call her names? Kill her in a fit of spoiled rage? Screwing up her courage, she called softly, "Malfoy, Malfoy, can you hear me? You have to wake up."

He cracked open one eye and glared at her from under his arm. "You do realize that this is the second time you've woken me in the past twenty-four hours."

"Yes."

"Well, you can tell her I'm not adopting another one. If that's the case, she can sod off and take her time-spells with her." He moved to roll over, but seemed to remember the little girl at the last moment. Lowering his arm, he blinked resentfully into the firelight.

Hermione was shocked. "How'd you know it was her?" she asked, aghast.

"She seems to have a grudge against my getting a decent night's sleep, Granger, if you hadn't noticed." Hermione did not dignify this with a response. Instead, she said, "Get dressed. We're supposed to meet her in the Great Hall as soon as we can."

He grunted.

"_Now_, Malfoy," Hermione hissed. "She said it was important. We need to go."

"Don't feel like it."

"I don't care what you don't feel like, Malfoy, but we have do this, so suck it up and get your smarmy pureblood arse into some civilized clothes, would you?"

Draco scowled. "What do you think you are, Mudblood? My mother?"

"No!" Hermione threw her arms toward the ceiling, already exasperated. "And I thank Merlin every day for that."

"You think I don't?" Malfoy fumed. "It's bad enough that I have to spend my entire seventh year cooped up in a tower with a filthy Mudblood. But now…! They're feeding me this chimerashit about you being my wife, and the mother of my child, to boot! Bah! It's nonsense, all of it! They're in cahoots with the loony bin!"

"You ought to talk!" Hermione snapped. "You – with all your pureblood garbage!" Malfoy stood at this, and bent down so he was nose-to-nose with Hermione. Not to be intimidated, she persevered. "You're absolutely mental, the lot of you!" she raged. "You are _the_ most – "

"Break it up, break it up!" The old Hufflepuff House ghost suddenly burst through the wall. "Keep the peace! Break it up!" squawked the Fat Friar. "Yelling! And at this time in the morning, too! Well, I never…!"

"Hello, Friar," Hermione said dully. "We were just – "

"Trying to wake up the entire castle? Attempting to rise the dead? – No pun intended, of course – I expected more of you, young lady! And don't think I don't see the munchkin there!" He looked pointedly at the child, awkwardly cradled in Malfoy's left arm, still sleeping. Both students glowered immediately. "The scandal! The irony! The – oh, wouldn't you know it, I'm late for tea. Ta!" With a wail, he disappeared up the chimney.

"Argh!" Hermione sat abruptly and pounded one of the couch's pillows irritably. "This was supposed to be a secret! Now the whole school'll know! Oh, why couldn't Harry've been Head Boy? My life is ruined! My grades," she moaned.

"I reckon we have three hours before those useless Hufflepuffs get ahold of this," Draco predicted, completely ignoring her. "Then my father will hear of it, and he'll either kill you himself or send a Dementor after you. I suppose Dementors can have the – munchkin, did he call it? Yes, they'll like that very well. A pure soul, no sins clinging to it. And then my life will go back to normal."

Hermione shrieked and dove for Lyra, who woke at the sound of the scream. Draco, smirking, held the child out of reach. "Not so fast, Granger," he drawled. "What makes you think I'm going to just _hand_ you my ticket to freedom?" Lyra wailed at the sound of raised voices. "Oh, give her to me!" Hermione snapped, reaching over. Malfoy yanked his arm away before she could take the girl. "Please, Mudblood," he snickered. "Like you'd ever be able to muscle your way through me to _her_." He jerked his chin over his shoulder, where Lyra was dangling by her ankle, fairly crying in fright. Hermione instantly back away, hands at her sides. "Put her down, put her down, Malfoy," she begged.

Malfoy's smirk only grew. "Look at little Mudblood Granger, weeping for her little Mudblood baby. You're weak, Granger, weak. You're nothing put a bit of pathetic filth on the bottom if my shoe who doesn't deserve to walk these hallowed halls."

Hermione took this in silently, hands clenched at her sides, teeth clamped together resolutely. She would not give Malfoy the opportunity to drop the girl.

"_Put her down, put her down, Malfoy_," he mocked, clearly enjoying himself. "_I'm ruined! Harry, Harry, come save me from horrid old Malfoy_!" He nearly doubled over laughing. Hermione saw her opportunity and lunged, catching him off guard. For a split second, it looked as if he was going to drop the baby, but with reflexes born of years of Quidditch, he managed to catch her and spin away from Hermione at the same time. "I told you, you can't beat me," he crowed. "I'm better than you are. I'm better than your entire kind put together! And you will never – _never_ – win against me."

_()()()_

Even an hour after the fact, the teachers' lounge was still in an uproar from Minerva's news. Carmen Leland rubbed her temples and sighed. Apparently, her status as the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher gave all the other professors the go-ahead to regale her in the horror stories of DADA instructors past – Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been idiot enough to Obliviate himself; Remus Lupin, a werewolf; not to mention Mad-Eye Moody, who had turned out to be, well, _not_ Mad-Eye Moody…it was enough to make anyone's head explode. And now, with this new seventh-year course, she, as the DADA professor, was given the role of DADA teacher _and _the Parenthood project overseer.

Even though it was completely Minerva's idea in the first place.

Her Auror training had _clearly_ been lacking in Care of Pretend Magical Babies.

She was honestly contemplating resigning when the Fat Friar burst through the wall. "They're fighting again!" he wailed, zooming around the room. "Oh, they're fighting! And they've gone and kidnapped one of those Oopmper Loompu creatures!"

"Oomper Loompu." Horace Slughorn was hardly amused. "I assure you, Friar, no such creature truly exists – "

"They're from _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_," the ghost of the rather petite – of course, being nearly six feet herself, many women were 'rather petite' to Carmen – Alethea Sinistra said impatiently, elbowing her way to the front. "Who's fighting?"

The professors erupted again, wagering students against each other.

"It's Potter!"

"Malfoy!"

"The Weasley girl and Slughorn've been shacking up, I reckon!"

"Oi!"

"A-_hem_." The Friar crossed his arms imperiously. "A dead body is a body all the same, and _this_ body is late for tea."

"You're always missing your tea," Alethea's Irish voice griped. "What are you on about, anyways? It's far too early for any students to be up."

"Apparently, nobody told the Heads," the Friar sniffed. "They're fighting like chimeras and dragons up there. And they've got a kid, too. Almost dropped it, he did."

Carmen nearly let go of her tea. "What?" she yelped. Ignoring the glances and glares of the rest of the staff, she set her mug down. "He almost _dropped it_?" Her voice dipped sharply.

"Carmen, darling, you do realize this is a _doll_ we're dealing with?" Linden Coilin, the new Muggle Studies teacher, smirked at her. "They're the Heads. They probably got theirs early."

"And just how would you know?" Dominic Teach, who had taken over Transfiguration after Minerva had become Headmistress, frowned at Coilin. "Seeing as you teach Muggle Studies, and were not the one _handpicked_ by Minerva to help the seventh years." Carmen shot him a grateful look. He gave her a tired smile in return.

"And did I mention they were about three seconds from drawing their wands?" The Friar looked almost bored. Carmen started and sprinted across the room and shouldered open the door, disappearing into the Great Hall, Dominic hot on her heels.

_()()()_

"_Put her down!" _

Hermione was screaming when Carmen burst through the door. Draco was balanced on the back of the couch, still clutching the baby in one hand. Staring down at the younger witch, he cackled. "Not likely, Granger. She's mine too, you know."

"Oh, like _that's_ believable!"

"Well, she certainly didn't get her good looks from _you_!"

"It's unfathomable that _you'd_ want _her_! A Mudblood baby, you said so yourself!"

"GRANGER! MALFOY!"

It was quite comical, really, the way the Head Boy and Girl froze at the sound of Dominic's voice, eyes wide, wands at each others' throats.

"Malfoy, get off the couch," Carmen ordered. "I mean it. Oh, and for Merlin's sake, give Miss Ganger the baby. Poor thing's probably terrified. Ten points from Slytherin for manhandling an innocent."

Malfoy sneered, but leapt off the couch's back, shoving the baby at Hermione in the process. "That's ridiculous," he said evenly. "I was merely…playing with her. Besides, she's a doll under a charm, not an actual _baby_."

"Yes, Malfoy, we know what she is," Dominic said. "Minerva told us already."

"Playing with her my foot," Hermione muttered, bouncing the wailing baby. "You were _obviously_ dropped on your head as a child."

"Why, you little Mudbl – "

"To the Headmistress' office, the both of you," Carmen interrupted. "I don't want to hear it, Malfoy, save it for Professor McGonagall. And another ten points from Slytherin for blood-status discrimination."

"Professor – !" Malfoy spluttered. "You can't seriously – you wouldn't – "

Carmen ignored him as she marched out of the dorm. Hermione shot Malfoy a superior look. "Money can't buy you everything in life, Malferret," she taunted under her breath. "Mudblood," he shot back. She rolled her eyes and stepped on his foot. Dominic turned back to them before he could retaliate. "Right, then," the Transfiguration professor muttered, looking rather dazed. "Let's go."

_()()()_

Minerva McGonagall surveyed the two students standing in front of her desk without humor. The second letter had assured her that all would be well, but at the moment, she wasn't particularly inclined to agree. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy glared at each other, mouths set into lines and eyes narrowed. Cradled in Hermione's arms, the baby whimpered. _Really,_ Minerva thought glumly, _Hogwarts will be lucky if it still stands after this year_.

Carmen and Dominic had frogmarched the two of them in just moments prior, looking uncharacteristically grim. Carmen had explained the situation in which they had been found, while the students in question stood beside her and glowered at each other. McGonagall had lectured them on the importance of child safety and was at the moment regarding them,

"Granger, Malfoy," she said at last, "what do you have to say for yourselves?"

"It's her fault," Malfoy said immediately. "She started it."

"Oh, grow up, Malfoy," Hermione shot at him. "What are you, twelve? My seven-year-old cousins hardly even say that."

"Shows how much they know," Malfoy sneered. "Stupid muggles. Always insisting they're the best."

"You _foul_ pureblood bastar –"

"Miss Granger, that is quite enough," McGonagall interrupted. "And Mr. Malfoy, I would advise you keep your opinions to yourself. Shocking as though it may be to you, muggleborns like Miss Granger and myself rarely appreciate them."

"You're a muggleborn?" Hermione eyed her teacher with a new respect. "I didn't know that."

"I daresay you didn't," McGonagall replied crisply. "Dominic, Carmen?"

"Yes, Minerva?" they chorused.

"Carmen, if you would escort these two back to their dorm until breakfast, I would be very grateful. I would like you to stay with them until quarter to eight, when I would like them to meet with me in the Great Hall. Dominic, you are to keep the peace in the teachers' lounge until breakfast. Is that understandable?"

"Of course." Dominic spoke for both of them.

"Very good. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, you are dismissed. Professor Leland is to be your escort. You are not to leave her sight or cause her any sort of grief." She paused. "Granger, Malfoy, you may _leave_."

"Sorry, Professor." Mortified, Hermione walked stiffly out of the Headmistress' office. She was vaguely aware of Malfoy sulking along behind her, and the new Professor Leland shepherding them to the Heads' dormitory. Lyra was sleeping again – she seemed to do a lot of that – and Hermione felt a rush of unexpected affection for the child. _Illogical, _she thought to herself hastily. _Don't be illogical, it's a just a prank. Or a dream. Or both._ _It's probably George's fault. He's testing something on me. _She sighed_. Idiot Weasley._

_()()()_

"She said yes!Harry, _she said yes_!_"_

Harry Potter forced his eyes open. Someone had wrenched aside the red curtains around the bed; past the foot of his four-poster, a blurry dark-haired person seemed to be dancing around the seventh years boys' dorm, celebrating. "That's great, Neville," he yawned, rolling over, arm over his eyes to block out the light. "Now go back to sleep, mate."

From the next bed came a distinct, "Whazz'agoin'on?"

Neville seized his chance and waltzed himself over to Ron. "Luna owled back! She said yes! To me! Me, Ron, _me_!"

"Yes to _what_, exactly?" Harry, acknowledging to himself that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep until Neville's energy wore out, sat up and groped for his glasses. Successfully finding them and settling them on his nose, the world suddenly came into view. Neville had begun a bizarre, clomping tango with the letter in lieu of a partner. To his right, Ron had apparently woken up enough to be treated to the sight of the Neville & Letter Dance Company, as he was inching backwards on his bed, his eyes bugging out and his face turning red from restrained laughter. Harry snorted.

"What in Merlin's name…?" Across from Harry, Dean Thomas rolled over and sat up. "Seamus, I swear, if you've smuggled any more Weasley's Wheezes into the school…oi, what's with Neville?" He rubbed his eyes. "Blimey, I must be tired. Neville dancing? Not in this lifetime." Catching sight of Harry and Ron, he grimaced. "Bloody hell, I'm awake, aren't I?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "Luna owled him about something and he's still hyped up from all the butterbeer you and Seamus smuggled in last night."

"Oh." Silence. "Never again."

"Agreed," Ron squeaked. They shared a look. In the background, Neville broke into song.

They bolted for the door.

_()()()_

Minerva rubbed her temples. Really, was all this nattering necessary? True to his word, Dominic had managed to keep the teachers' lounge fairly low-key, but the moment she walked in, it had turned into a full-blown circus. "Enough!" she finally shouted. "Calm yourselves!"

This, of course, only served to rouse them further.

"What in Merlin's dear father's name is this blasphemy?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, it seems awfully horrid!"

"I demand a refund!"

"Excuse me?" Minerva's temper rose as the voices of her colleagues surrounded her in a maelstrom of insults and questions. The ghost of tiny Alethea Sinistra seemed confused, while the rotund Horace Slughorn merely looked disinterested. Severus was there, and he looked rather disgusted by it all. Sybil Trelawney and Yolanda Hooch appeared irate, while Linden Coilin's expression clearly conveyed distrust and anger. Binns was snoring in a chair in the corner, not in the least helping with the din.

"Dear Godric, Minerva, surely you've not gone off your rocker too?"

"I daresay this is a rather dreadful display of mental competence."

"Good Rowena, if you've lost your mind, woman, just say so! I'll whip up a cauldron of Restoration Draught in no time!"

In the end, however, it was Alethea's shout of "Will someone _please_ explain to me what exactly what is going on?" that silenced the room. Minerva drew herself up regally and regarded her staff. "I am shocked and horrified at your behavior," she told them severely. "All of you. Why, you all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Hogwarts has never condoned such foolish antics, and never shall!" At her enraged words, the entire staff, bar two, had the grace to look apologetically sheepish. Contrite mutters were aimed in her direction and sorry glances shot from under lowered lashes. Coilin, however, merely crossed his arms and stared defiantly down at her. "Yes, Mr. Coilin?" Minerva barked impatiently.

"Nothing, Professor," he said smoothly, voice as slippery and oily as the snake he was. He'd been a Slytherin during his time at Hogwarts, and a promising young man, but after his graduation, he'd disappeared for nearly ten years. He'd stumbled back into society a month or two before Potter's victory over Lord Voldemort, claiming that he'd been kidnapped and hidden in the mountains of Switzerland. Nobody had contested this story; there had been enough deaths and far too many missing bodies that even the addition of one fighter was great cause for celebration. Minerva personally wasn't his greatest admirer now that the war had been won, but Albus' portrait had insisted upon hiring the man. And really, who was she to oppose the greatest headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen?

()()()

_**Uh…no, this is most certainly NOT a filler chapter XD **_

_**Anyways, I'll try to have the next chapter posted within a month, honest. **_

_**Thanks to all who are still putting up with me :P**_

_**-me **_


	4. Announcement: Stardate 4:27:12

This is your captain speaking.

Due to lack of plot and laziness on my part, the SS _Journey_ has been sinking to the depths of Davy Jones' locker for several months now. It is my duty to inform you that this magnificent ship is not likely to resurface for a very long time. In its absence, however, another ship has been launched: the SS _The Five Year Arrangement_.

Please board the SS _Arrangement_ at the soonest chance possible. Lifeboats (or a link, whatever floats your Titanic) leading to said ship can be found in the captain's quarters (that is to say, my profile). This story will be left up, since it may be continued some day. _The Five Year Arrangement_ also involves babies and partnerships and Dramione.

Thank you for your attention and love.

This has been your captain speaking.

-Heimarmene


End file.
